


writing my name underneath your skin

by Ravenspear



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Collars, Dark, M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-28
Updated: 2010-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-14 04:26:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenspear/pseuds/Ravenspear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley has committed treason. Lucifer brings his misguided son to heel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	writing my name underneath your skin

Lucifer hunts him down personally, chases him across the world, a flickering light across the ethereal as Crowley flees through shadows and dark, hidden places.

He supposes it's an honor, if a twisted one, that the Morningstar would see to his capture and demise in person. It's an honor he feels he could have done without.

He stops in an abandoned hospital somewhere in Asia; he's not sure exactly where, other than that the place carries enough resonance of suffering and death to perchance hide the blight of his presence from Lucifer's keen and hungry eyes. He allows himself a second to breathe there, and there is where the inevitable catches up to him.

Lucifer arrives like a blinding nova of light before him, vengeful and terrifying, and the force of his righteous wrath is a physical pressure that drives Crowley to his hands and knees on the floor, a curled up, pathetic thing before the radiance of this would-be god.

"You ungrateful _maggot_ ," Lucifer says, furious and frustrated, and his voice is like glass shattering across metal. "Everything you are, I gave you. I took your pathetic, weeping soul, and I made it into something better, something grander. I gave you a second _life_ , Crowley, and _this_ is how you'd repay me? With treason and death?" He picks Crowley up by his throat, makes sure Crowley looks right into his burning eyes. "This is how you'd repay my love, child?"

And Crowley wants to grovel, kiss Lucifer's feet and beg forgiveness. Wants to lie prostrate and let his father take his punishment out of his flesh and soul.

But he won't, because he is Crowley, and he is, if nothing else, a vain, _proud_ creature. "Well, it was worth a shot, I reckon."

Lucifer's assault is quick and violent and painful. It is the agony of broken bones, and ruptured organs, and a soul shying away from freezing fire so violently antithetical to it's very nature, tarnished and corrupted though it may be.

"What a foul, wicked creature you are, my son," Lucifer says at last, crouching on the floor next to Crowley's broken, wetly wheezing form. "It's painful to see something so beautiful so completely lost. And at first I thought I would have to put you down, like the disloyal dog you are, but..." He grabs a hold of Crowley's hair, pulls his head up, and his other hand is tight around Crowley's neck. "Perhaps all you _really_ need is a tighter collar, hmm?"

\---

Crowley doesn't scream as Lucifer flays the skin from his throat with a scalpel he found in the dusty remains of what was once a surgery room.

He'd _like_ to. Scream, that is. But he _can't_ , because Lucifer had raised a finger to his mouth, shushed him like one would a child, and Crowley's throat had stopped working, just like that.

Now all he can do is shiver helplessly against the surgical table, held down by Lucifer's white-hot will and unnecessary leather restraints ( _"I just like the look of them, don't you?"_ ), as Lucifer carves and lays bare, litters the floor with discarded pieces of bloodied skin, and makes Crowley _feel_ every torturous second of it.

"Shh, shh," Lucifer soothes, a gentle hand brushing across Crowley's sweaty forehead. "Be still, child; don't worry. It'll all be over soon," he promises, leans down to press a soft, chaste kiss against Crowley's gasping lips.

\---

When it's all over, Lucifer sits on the bloodstained table, gathers the shaking, agonized mess that is Crowley to his chest with careful, sticky red hands and presses soft, icy kisses against his temple. "See, that wasn't so terrible, was it? And you did _so_ well. My little boy."

Then he leans down, presses frozen lips against the already healing scars reaching all the way around Crowley's neck, licks along a particularly red stretch of new skin, the cold of his tongue seeping down through it, chilling the circular piece of jagged metal resting harsh and painful underneath.

"So," Lucifer murmurs fondly as he nuzzles the soft piece of skin behind Crowley's ear, "how do you like your new collar, my pet?"

And Crowley cannot see it, but he's sure the smile Lucifer presses against his neck is vicious.


End file.
